


Trebuchet

by salishseaselkie



Series: Of Lambs and Lions [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Smut, Teasing, Watching, lots of teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:30:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie





	Trebuchet

Niamh Trevelyan thinks she is so clever.

That is what is going through Cullen’s head as she paces before him, eyeing his naked body. She must think she is so _fucking_ clever.

Of course, she must be. He is, after all, the one tied to her bed post with a silly silk rope from who knows where, _naked_ , as she eyes him, her eyes more vibrant than ever. She is the one who talked him into this, asking him if he trusted her. He is the one kneeling on the corner of her bed, likely looking like a mussed-up cat before a bath. Maker, he hates his hair. It has likely curled up everywhere. And he is dreading whatever she has cooked up for him. He hates surprises.

She eyes his body, every inch of his anatomy on display for her, and he knows his face is the color of strawberries in the very least. She is naked as well – they took their sweet time working each other up to this point, and somewhere in the interim of their foreplay, she’s asked him if he trusted her. He’d been so dizzy with her scent and her skin on his that he would have agreed to anything. He is getting nervous as she regards his body with great interest.

She snaps up her gaze to meet his. “Rules…you must do as you are told. Any deviance will be met with…” and she smiles wickedly, “…a complete and utter cease on activities.” She’s being verbose again, trying to distract him with words while she flaunts her soft curves before him. _Minx_. She giggles.

He grumbles. “Why are we doing this again?” She hums as she ponders her response.

Coyly, she answers, “Why? Because Dorian said it would be a good way to drive you out of your mind.” She flashes her teeth at him. He wants to kill Dorian. “Safe word, Cullen?” He blushes.

He fidgets as he toys with different words in his head. “Um…trebuchet.” He blushes as she presses her lips together to suppress a laugh. She knows he loves his trebuchets, how he loves to keep them maintained, but they were expensive, after all, and how can he be expected to let them sit around to rot into disrepair? It is why she loves him - she said so herself.

She purses her lips to resume her monologue with a straight face. “Very well. Ah!” She grins again, that sinful little grin that tells him she is up to no good. “You must remain silent until I say otherwise.” He sets his jaw, and she gets on her hands and knees on the bed. She crawls up to him and makes sure her knot is secure – unfortunately, it is.

She then kisses him, her lips pressed against his, and she bites gently on his lower lip, tugging ever so slightly. Her eyes go dark, dilating as she awakens her desires and his. He is aware that his breathing has grown shallow, but her body beckons to him as her lips slip over his abdomen, her nose nuzzling his hot skin.

She runs a finger down the thin trail of hair that leads to his groin – the hair there is soft, so she says. Some nights, when they cuddle, when his back is to her and her arm is draped over his waist, she traces it endlessly, driving him to distraction with her gentle touch.

But there is nothing gentle about tonight. She’s pushing him up against the bed post, calling to his body, setting his flesh on fire with teeth and tongue and lips and fingers. She snakes up his torso and presses her cleavage to his face, and he bites at whatever he can, licks her skin to taste. She adjusts so he can take a nipple, and he sucks. He wants to hold her, press her body to his and bear her down, but the damned rope holds him. He hates it. He wants to burn it once they are done, but then she’ll just find another one, and then where will he be?

Her hands are in his hair, pulling his head close, and he tugs on her breast, still sucking. He hears her moan, sending a shudder down his spine. Suddenly, she is pulling away. He whines audibly as she pushes off of him. Her face perks up at the sound.

She coos, “Breaking my rules, Commander? Well, we’ll have to dole out severe consequences for that…” Her smile is deviant, dark. She lowers herself onto her back, her bottom inches from his knees, and Cullen feels the blood rushing to his ears as he realizes what she is doing.

She lies down, dark blue eyes still locked with his, her feet spread, both on either side of his legs. He tugs at the rope, but it is futile: her knots are impervious to struggling. She touches a finger to her vaginal lips, and looks up briefly. “Remember: you do have a safe word if this is too much for you.” She says it to assure him, but there is just enough teasing in her voice to make him feel taunted. Oh, _that_ is a challenge, he thinks to himself. Too much, eh? Not enough.

He smiles, feigning boredom. “Oh, no, please…continue.” She bites her lip, the smile returning to her face, and she lays her head back. Her long fingers part her folds, and briefly touch her clitoris.

She makes a gasp at the initial touch, and the sound is a pulse that runs straight to his groin. He can smell her sex, the musk of it; he sees how her sex glistens with how wet he’s made her, making his body flush with need. She rubs her fingers over herself, parting to stimulate each side of the sensitive nub. She moans openly and closes her eyes.

“ _Cullen._ ” Oh, _Andraste’s tits_. She’s deliberately driving him mad. He tests the rope again. He has very little self-control left, very little keeping him from breaking the bed post. She continues and rocks her hips into her hand as she comes softly, keening, arching her back in a fitful climax. He’s never seen something so beautiful…or arousing. His erection twitches. He strains against the ropes, head back against the post to look down his nose at her in anguish.

He growls impatiently, “Niamh…” She looks at him through hazy eyes.

“Yes?” Her voice is husky, breathy. Maker’s breath, he wants her, wants to fuck her, wants to take her and brand her as his.

He asks, sounding more calm and collected than he feels, “Are you quite finished?” She smirks.

She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “I suppose I can untie you…” and she gets up. She puts her palms on his chest and kisses his mouth, slipping her touch over his body until she is fisting her hands in his hair. “Or…” and she leans in to lick his ear. “…I could just play with you some more. Unless you want to use–”

“I am not using your damn safe word,” he retorts, but his voice is choked, and the look he gives her elicits some fire in her eyes as she looks at him for clarification. She smiles and gets on her hands and knees before him. Almost immediately, she takes his erection into her mouth and places a hand at his base. Her pace is meant to tease, slow and light, but then moments later, she flicks her gaze up to his as he watches her, and he bucks.

She lets go and straddles his hips, hands on his shoulders. She bites an earlobe and glides her velvet sex over the ridge of his erection. His head lulls back against the post. She licks right beneath his ear.

He lets a moan slip out, and she lets up. He growls in the back of his throat. _Weak, thoughtless, relenting…_ He looks down, irascible with himself at best.

She leans back on the bed again, eyes smug and satisfied. She puts her hand to her sex. It is more than he can bear.

“Trebuchet.” Her eyes light up.

“What?”

“Bloody Maker, will you just untie me?” Faster than he’d expected, she bolts up off the mattress and presses an eager kiss to his lips. She’s wanted this all along. As he reciprocates, her hands wind down his arms and undo the knot.

The minute he feels the rope slacken, he enfolds her in his embrace and bears her down onto the bed. Smiling, he kisses her neck, kisses her breasts, her navel, and then he takes to her sex, thrusting his arms under her thighs to grab hold of her hips and lap her up. He hears her immediate wailing turn into screams as she grasps his hair frantically. All of Skyhold could probably hear them, but he doesn’t care.

He flicks his tongue over her nub; she bucks, her whole body alive with his ministrations. Her thighs squeeze on his ears, and all he can hear is the pounding of her blood through her body, but he keeps to his task until she’s trembling around him. He sets her legs down and climbs up her body. Her arms are above her head, a pillow firmly in her grasp. She is panting hard.

He fits his hands in hers, twines his fingers with hers, and dips his head next to hers to kiss her neck. He whispers, “Brace yourself, darling.” He slides into her, and he sighs as she sheaths him. There could be no better fit in all of the world.

She whispers his name as she kisses his jaw. He holds there, relishing the feel of her. She’s still trembling. “ _Flames_ , Cullen, you feel…” He lifts his head and kisses her mouth. He thrusts his tongue in, and she receives as well as she gives. He moves his hips. A hiccuping gasp bursts from her throat. He tilts his hips, rolling, and her eyes flutter into the back of her head. A chuckle rumbles in his chest. He kisses her collarbone.

He whispers, “I love you.” He feels her legs wrapping slowly around his waist, and a heel rests on the small of his back.

She urges insistently, “Cullen… _harder_.” And he obeys willingly, thrusting, hands still latched to hers. Her hips roll in time with his, matching his speed, and she is murmuring names like a prayer: Maker… Andraste… Cullen…oh, sweet merciful Maker, Cullen, _yes_ …oh, Cullen, my love… He savors his name on her tongue, taking her mouth in his again.

Her body bows against his, taut and fevered. His hands go to her hips and slide up to her shoulder blades to press her body against his. A leg curls up against his side, and he lifts it over his shoulder for a deeper thrust. He inclines his, propped up on his hands, his eyes on her face to watch for her reaction. He pounds into her, setting an unforgiving pace.

Her hands wrap around his wrists and squeeze as she comes undone. She screams with the force of her orgasm. Heat pools in his belly, and it isn’t long before he too is panting out his release.

He falls forward, resting the weight of his torso on hers. His heartbeat pounds in his ears. She is running her fingers through his hair softly, grounding him from his dizzying high. His fingers find her arms and pull her hands down. He brings one to his lips and says, “Next time, you get to be the one tied up.” She laughs.

“You’ll have to catch me first.”


End file.
